


Through the Skin of Our Universe

by thewhitestag



Category: Free!
Genre: Angst, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-26 23:44:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5025331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewhitestag/pseuds/thewhitestag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The cosmos is a fragile, fickle thing. It tears more easily than you might expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Through the Skin of Our Universe

When Makoto was in elementary school, his teacher had once given a lesson about the beginnings of the universe. From atoms into moons and galaxies, she explained the formation of cosmic bodies like stirring a giant pot of soup. "Imagine all those bits of matter, like pepper flakes and fish cakes and seaweed," she had said, "swirling around, converging, until finally they reach the center of gravity and become a stable mass."

Makoto still remembers that lesson, even here in this city that is eighty minutes by plane and ten years away from that Iwatobi classroom. He thinks about it now in these colder months when the oden carts start cropping up by the riverbank. Especially on nights that Sousuke is there with him, sitting on the stool to his left, ears chafing red from the cold. Makoto watches the broth simmer and wonders if that's the only real logic to this universe—to what he has with Sousuke. Things drifting together, for no other reason than by existing.  
  


♜  
  


It’s natural to cling to what you know, especially when you’re surrounded by things and people and places that you don’t. Makoto has a hard time matching Tokyo’s tempo, and Sousuke is a familiar face. As for Sousuke’s reasons? Makoto hasn’t asked. Maybe it’s just that Makoto made it easy for him.

It's convenience. It’s comfort. Maybe you could even call it an extension of friendship. But it isn't quite romance, and most definitely not love.

They build habits, like coffee on Tuesdays, when neither of them have morning class. On Friday nights, it's cheap takeout and beer, and all the junk food and sweets they couldn't eat when they thought they were athletes. Structure is comforting; it makes living feel like less of a mistake.

They've even fallen into assigned duties. For example: no matter whose apartment they’re in, Sousuke is the one who cooks on the nights that they eat in, and Makoto washes the futon in the morning. And when their gazes meet for too long, Sousuke makes sure to turn away.

This is the order of their universe.  
  


♜  
  


Still, the cosmos is a fragile, fickle thing. It tears more easily than you might expect, opening holes into other worlds, other possibilities beyond what is known. Sometimes Makoto finds himself peeking through. He sees other Makotos, selves that seem mirror-identical, except he can tell that they are lighter inside. That they don't choke themselves on the words they have had to swallow.

Over time, curiosity—or is it envy—overcomes caution and staring isn't enough. He begins passing through those cosmic tears, taking short visits to see what it’s like to really be those other versions of himself. Universes where what he shares with Sousuke amounts to more than relief, where he doesn't think in terms of substitutions, and there is no danger to hope or wonder. Universes where he can be a different Makoto, whose affection doesn't have to be pushed down with discomfort, like a bad case of indigestion.

But the tears always heal. And Makoto returns, never telling the secrets of his travels.

He learns to be more careful than usual when he comes back, to be certain he doesn’t confuse himself. He doesn't react when Sousuke's hand lingers too long on his shoulder; and when Sousuke catches his eye and smiles, Makoto makes sure to tell himself that this means nothing. Calm down. This is only life as usual. Just like texts sent between classes, and Sousuke's smell on his pillow, and barbecue at one in the morning from a hole-in-the-wall in Shin-Okubo. They don't mean anything, either. They are only bits of matter, swirling, collecting, catching in their gravity, becoming a mass that Makoto cannot name or identify.

For a time, Makoto believes this is a situation he can navigate, all his realities neatly separated by rules and compartments. But life always has a way of twisting out of his grip, and lashing against any hope of being controlled.  
  


♜  
  


In the end, two strips of paper are enough to upset the balance.

Haru brings them on a Sunday morning—tickets for his next competition. He always has a few freebies from his coaches, and he always has one to give to Makoto. But this time, as he sips the tea that Makoto prepared, he slides two of them across the table.

Makoto tentatively chooses one, frowning in confusion. Haru pushes the remaining ticket towards him.

"But Sousuke," he says.

Just two tickets and two words, but Haru doesn't have to explain. Makoto can still read him as easily as he always has. Haru isn't asking, or implying. Only responding to what he thinks is a given fact.

Makoto's stomach tightens.

He should correct Haru's assumptions. He should tell him about the boundaries of this universe. But in the moment he hesitates, the cosmos rips open, and this time he doesn't even have to step through. The hole moves of its own accord, swallows him up, and he is transformed. He becomes a different variable in the social algebra of his life—but at the other end of the equation, he and Sousuke still sum up into nothing consequential. All that has changed is the sudden weight of that truth. How badly it would crush him to be forced to say it out loud.

That’s the danger of traveling universes. You carry your pains back with you, even after you return to where you belong. Makoto takes the second ticket without a word.  
  


♜  
  


Since then, the holes have been opening up more frequently than ever, with that same chasing aggression. Along with them comes a growing anxiety. Because what happens if Makoto forgets which world he really belongs to? What happens if pretend yields to belief? What happens if the holes seal forever, with him still on the wrong side—if he becomes that version of himself who will not settle for comfort?

But the more he fears it, the more he finds himself slipping. Failing to keep hold of the stagnant world he's used to. He cannot kiss with the proper modesty anymore. He's forgotten how to keep this impersonal. When their fingers touch, he does not move his hands away. And when their bodies move against each other, he stops biting his lip, allowing his gasps to take the unmistakable shape of Sousuke's name.

It becomes unbearable, especially on the kind of night when he arrives at Sousuke's apartment and wonders if he's not the only one becoming someone new. That maybe Sousuke, too, has been traveling other worlds and selves. The kind of night when Makoto hasn't even taken his shoes off and Sousuke wraps around him right there in the genkan, biting at Makoto's neck in that ticklish, eager way.

It’s terrifying.

Makoto doesn't want to change, only to discover that Sousuke is the same Sousuke he has always been, with his strong arms, and warm hands, and eyes that do not hold steady in the dark but always drift away. He doesn't want to talk and touch through the translucent skin of a separate universe.

But he knows it will come. He knows that he wouldn't need to exhaust himself trying to hold on, if he weren't being pulled away. There will be a time that he finally says goodbye to this version of himself, to this lonely gray universe that is not a home, but is at least familiar in its disappointments.  
  


♜  
  


He can feel the end approaching on the night that it happens. The holes are everywhere in Sousuke’s apartment, hovering and snapping open like so many mouths. It is all he can do to stave them off for a few more hours.

Furniture slides back and forth across the floor and the dishes rattle in their cabinets, jerked by the force of competing gravities. But Sousuke only notices that Makoto is acting strangely, though he misreads it as hesitation. His concern is irritating—Makoto's entire reality wouldn't be in tatters if Sousuke could just be a more callous person.

Sousuke brushes Makoto's bare shoulder with a knuckle. "Hey. You don't have to force yourself if you don't feel like it."

Of course he doesn't have to. For all the things in Makoto's life that go wrong, he has at least never deliberately walked into something he hated. He knows how to fight against that. He just hasn't figured out how to fight for the things he does want.

The ceiling buckles and liquifies; Makoto ignores it and pulls Sousuke against him with a force that shocks the both of them. And when Sousuke's eyes go wide as if he doesn't recognize him, it is all that Makoto can do not to say sorry to Sousuke right then because he’ll be feeling this way more often.

It happens in the quiet minutes after they finish, Sousuke still on top of him, eyes shut and chest heaving to catch his breath. They are both damp with sweat. The tables and chairs and ceiling have stopped moving, and the dishware is silent. There are no more taunting gaps in reality, swirling in the air above Makoto’s head. No need for the cosmos to put on a show now that Makoto has decided to surrender.

The final tear appears from below, a neat incision that mirrors the line of Makoto's spine, bisecting the futon beneath him in a single swift motion.

He holds Sousuke's wrist for a moment. Squeezes. Wonders if this is the last time they will ever exist in the same universe again. The hole yields open as he lets go.

Makoto closes his eyes, and falls.

  
  
  


**♔end**

**Author's Note:**

> It’s been an age since I’ve posted up my writing but I really wanted to finish at least one piece for SouMako Week. Ended up barely squeezing in a Day 2 prompt on the last few minutes of Day 7, but hey it's something.


End file.
